The Point of No Return
by Clopin K. Trouillefou
Summary: Erik finds himself plunged into the darker world of the paranormal, a world he knows nothing about and friends he never expected to make.


It wasn't so long ago, though it felt like a lifetime, that Erik had his second encounter with one of the creatures that had attacked Raoul. It was just before he'd come to Paris, just before he'd gone to his childhood home, intent on burning it down. He was in a cafe, playing some sweet tune on his violin, looking to make a bit of money though he had little need of it. He left when he was done playing, walking through the dark streets of this town he was in, when a voice called out.

"Excuse me, _monsieur_," it called.

He turned to see a group of men standing there, one slightly in front of the others, apparently the leader of this group.

"Quite a talent you have," he said, "I've an offer for you."

Erik quirked an eyebrow behind his mask, "And what would that be?"

"I lead a traveling fair," the man went on, "And we have a need for a skilled violinist, which you clearly are. Perhaps you'd consider joining us."

"No thank you," Erik replied; he'd had enough of traveling fairs and the like.

"Come now," the man pressed, "There is good money to be made."

"I am not interested," he said, narrowing his eyes.

He turned to leave only to find that the man's companions had surrounded him; apparently 'no' was not an acceptable answer. Erik sighed; he really hadn't felt like killing anyone, he had a promise to the Daroga to keep, though killing was looking like a necessity to protect himself.

"Sorry, friend," the man said as Erik turned to look back at him, "We must insist."

Suddenly, Erik was grabbed from behind by two of the other men, each holding an arm even as Erik struggled against their combined strength. He hadn't even heard them move, so there was no time to reach his lasso or even his dagger. He struggled harder as their leader stepped forward, reaching for the mask he wore to hide his secret.

The man felt sure this was some noble's son, hiding his identity behind a mask, seeking some solace in forbidden music. He had offered him a way out of that life and been denied, so now perhaps they might get a handsome reward for the man's safe return to his family. His face fell, eyes widening, as he removed the mask and saw the deformity it hid, his compatriots loosening their grip as they too caught sight of it. Erik wrenched his arms free from their loosened grasp and snatched his mask back from the man who had taken it.

"As you can see, _monsieur_," he said, venom in his voice, "I do not wear this to hide my identity. Now, if you do not mind, I shall be on my way."

He turned to leave, bending to pick up the violin case he'd dropped when the man had grabbed him, only to have a rag soaked in chloroform placed over his nose (had he one to speak of) and mouth. He tried to struggle, but quickly lost the fight for consciousness, his arms dropping to his sides; they had quite the prize here with a face like his and were not about to let it get away.

For days they traveled, Erik swimming into consciousness only to be shoved back down by a bottle of laudanum pressed to his lips. How many days passed, he had no inkling, and his captors were taking no chances that, deformity or not, someone was looking for him. When at last Erik woke, he was tied to the spokes of a wagon wheel somewhere in the countryside, a skin of water being held to his lips.

"Drink," a female voice said gently.

He gulped at the water, only just realizing how thirsty he was, grateful for the cool liquid being poured into his mouth.

"That's enough," a familiar male voice commanded, "Leave us."

The woman with the water scurried off as the man from the other night came into focus and knelt in front of him, taking Erik's jaw in his hand and lifting his head up so they were eye to eye.

"Now," he said, "Let's chat, shall we? I'm offering you the same proposal I did before. Join us, with a face and music like that, we could make some good money. You'd get your share of the profits, of course."

"My answer has not changed," Erik replied.

All semblance of friendliness dropped as the man casually backhanded him, hardly batting an eye.

"I've tried reasoning with you, man to man," he said, again grabbing hold of his captive's jaw, "But clearly that isn't going to work with you, you're hardly a man. More animal really. You think I'm going to let a prize like you get away?" He gave a cold laugh, "I don't think so. And just to make sure you don't get any ideas…"

He pulled out a knife and grabbed hold of Erik's right leg, straightening it out even as Erik began struggling against his bonds, and stabbed the knife deep into his leg, dragging it down and across. The metallic stench of blood hit his nose as he was cut free and he fell over, retching the water he had drunk.

"What are you doing?" that female voice called out, "He'll bleed to death!"

"She's right," his captor remarked.

He removed his belt and looped it around Erik's leg as a tourniquet and pulled it tight to stem the blood flow, Erik letting out a cry of pain before he blacked out.

It was dark when Erik awoke to find himself in a cage, a moan escaping him at the thought of once again being imprisoned.

"Psst!" came a hiss from the darkness, "Psst, are you alright? _Parlez-vous anglais_?"

"_Pour quoi_?" Erik replied quietly, "Clearly you speak decent French."

"_They_ don't speak English," the voice came from Erik's left, "It's also my native tongue, it comes easier to me."

"I am in fact fluent," he said, switching to English, "What do you want?"

He glanced to his left and saw another cage, one large enough to hold a bear standing at its full height, his eyes making out a form behind the bars in the darkness.

The form shrugged, "I only thought it would be nice to converse with someone else for a change. No one speaks to me or at least as though I were a fully functioning adult."

Whoever this was had an accent Erik couldn't place and considering all the places he had been and all the languages he knew, he could place any number. This being, this other man, clearly was not British or from those isles, perhaps he was American with his unidentifiable accent and his preference for English.

"Who are you?" Erik wondered.

"My name is Poe," came the answer, "Edgar Poe. And who might you be?"

"Erik. I have no family name."

"That is unfortunate. My name is all I have of my family."

"You are an orphan?"

"Indeed."

"Where are you from? I do not recognize your accent."

"The States, specifically Virginia."

"Are you deformed as well?"

"No, though I've seen my share of human… oddities."

"None like me, I'm sure."

"Perhaps, I cannot see quite well enough in the dark to tell."

"If you are not deformed, what kind of oddity, as you call them, are you?"

Another shrug, "I am not one, not by birth at any rate. Rather I have been cursed and contracted that illness they call lycanthropy."

Poe waited for the snort of derision, the exclamation that there was no such thing, or even the question of what lycanthropy was, but what came was not what he expected.

"A… werewolf," Erik whispered, "That is quite a prize then."

"You are not at least surprised?"

"Incredulous perhaps, surprised certainly. What you expected however was disbelief and no I am not in such a state."

"Why?"

"I saw one once as a child among the Gypsies. I saw them kill it. I am no stranger to stories of werewolves or the term lycanthropy."

"Even our captor could not believe it until the full moon when he watched me change."

"I wondered why they would keep a normal man in a cage."

"If one could call me normal, then yes. They kept me in chains when first they had me, hardly daring to believe what they'd been told. Until the full moon came. After that, they caged me and I am kept here at all times except the full moon. They hold a special nocturnal performance for that and put me in chains made of silver."

"So if you're American, how did you come to be here?"

Poe shrugged, "Word got out somehow that PT Barnum had a werewolf in his employ. This was after the War Between the States, mind you. I'd gone to work for him after the war, just a means to make some much needed money, I wrote for him, but he found out about my affliction and tried to convince me to 'put on a show'. That is change in front of an audience, once a month for one night. It is, however, my affliction, not a means of entertainment. I was spirited away from my bed one night, thrown in a cage, and brought onto a ship bound for France. Once here, I was sold to Jacques, that's our captor's name by the way, and have remained thus."

Silence fell between the two and stretched on as each tried to sleep, Poe's eyes closed as he lay curled up in his cage while Erik simply stared out the bars of his.

"You never did answer my initial question," Poe suddenly said.

"Hmm?" Erik gave a start and turned to look in his direction, "What question?"

"I had asked if you were alright?" the other man asked, "They brought you in, unconscious, with your pant leg torn away and your leg bandaged. Are you alright?"

"No," Erik moaned, glancing down and seeing that indeed his right pant leg had been torn off and the leg bandaged, "I am not."

"What did they do?"

"He cut my leg, down to the bone unless I'm much mistaken, so I cannot walk, cannot escape."

Erik put a hand over his eyes as tears threatened, his heart pounding and chest heaving, but he looked up quickly as he suddenly realized something amiss.

"My mask! Where is my mask?"

Again, Poe shrugged, "You did not have one when they brought you in here. Jacques's tent if I had to hazard a guess."

"_Salaud_," Erik muttered, struggling to calm his state of panic, "He must have my violin as well!"

"Erik," Poe soothed, "Calm yourself. It won't do any good to be getting worked up like this, you'll only anger him and I assure you that is not something you want."

"And what will he do?" Erik snapped, "Kill me?" he gave a humorless laugh, "I would rather be dead than in this cage!"

"Oh, he will not kill you, he will beat you to hell, but he will not kill you. We're worth far too much to him alive."

"You said your name is Edgar Poe," Erik changed the subject to calm himself, "Any relation to the author?"

"Indeed I am the very same."

"I was under the impression you died in '49."

"The rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated to protect myself and my family from the truth. That was the year I was afflicted with this curse."

"Have you no pride left, man? No desire to escape this hell?"

"And how do you propose we do that? You cannot walk, much less run, with your leg in such a state. We are in cages, in case you had not noticed, though judging by your panicked state, you had taken note of that fact. Pride will do us no good, you're new, you will learn."

"How long have you been here?"

"Two years, thereabouts," Poe yawned, "You'd best get some sleep, they're putting you on tomorrow."

Two years Erik spent in that cage, being displayed as a freak and forced to play his violin for audiences as they gawked at his face. He exercised his leg as best he could in his cage, stretching it and flexing it to try and rehabilitate the damaged muscle. Poe, now known to Erik simply as Eddy, became a trusted friend and more or less the only person who spoke to him, someone to commiserate with. He'd been right, escape was all but impossible, and even if they could, they had nothing to their name, no supplies, no money, and the only food they got was the once or twice a day they were fed little more than scraps. Erik had never been one to eat more than once a day, but he typically ate more than the scant meals they were provided. Eddy, having lived much of his adult life in poverty, was accustomed to starvation and small meals, but even so, he too was underweight. They were both beaten regularly when their captors were bored, drunk, or felt the need to establish their dominance over them. Erik learned what Eddy had known for awhile: the pair were nothing more than dumb animals to their keepers.

They hardly ever bothered locking Erik's cage, with his leg injured as it was, he wouldn't get far and at any rate where was going to go? He was allowed out only to take brief, cold baths, and to relieve himself as they laughed at him, crawling on the ground. After two years of their brutality and exhausting his mind with ideas to escape his new hell, Erik thought himself broken. There came a day that changed all that, a day that seemed like any other, Erik sitting in his cage and playing his music for astonished spectators as usual. One stood from the rest, standing off to the side toward the front of the tent they sat in, a stern-looking woman with black hair. She looked anything but astonished, he wondered if that was pity he saw in her gaze as she watched him. He stopped, meeting her gaze, lowering his violin and feeling ashamed of himself for succumbing to his prison and his hopelessness, for allowing himself to be subdued and reduced to this. A sharp tug reminded him of the bear collar his captors kept around his neck and the leash attached to it, held in Jacques's own hand. Erik glanced up at his captor, a warning look on the man's face, before returning his gaze to that woman.

"Play!" Jacques hissed, tugging the leash hard once more.

Erik shook his head; no more of this, he was done no matter what they did to him in retaliation, but Jacques had other ideas. Furious, he took his cane, opened the cage, and began beating Erik with it, Erik's arms coming up to cover his face and head. No one moved, no one said anything except the woman with the black hair who begged Jacques to stop. Finally he did, grabbing the violin and thrusting it into Erik's hands.

"Now play!" he commanded and Erik nodded, taking the violin and playing once more.

After the performance, the woman who had once given him water, Marietta, approached his cage; over the years she had tended his wounds and brought him food, but she only saw him as a wounded animal.

"What were you thinking?" she whispered, kneeling before his cage.

"I don't know," Erik whispered back, "I cannot do this anymore. Help me escape, please."

"I can't," she muttered.

"Then get me a good length of rope," he responded, "I will free myself my own way."

"Erik," Eddy said cautiously, "What are you thinking?"

"If you care a whit about me," Erik hissed to the girl, ignoring Eddy, "You will do this."

Biting her lip, she hesitantly nodded before rising and hurriedly leaving the tent, Eddy looking at Erik in concern over what might be going through his head. He shook his head, knowing he himself had been lost and contemplating suicide, but he didn't want that fate for his deformed friend. Erik returned his gaze and met those sad, grey eyes, his mind made up.

"It's the only way," he muttered.

Night fell, neither Erik nor Eddy sleeping as both were lost in their own thoughts and for once, they didn't speak to each other. The rustle of the tent flap caused Erik to glance up, Marietta standing there before cautiously approaching his cage, a coil of rope in her hands.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked as she handed him the rope through the bars of the cage.

"Yes," Erik replied, "This is my only way out and I will take it."

She watched as he uncoiled the rope and began tying it into a noose, "Go, this will be ugly."

She didn't need telling twice as she turned and hurried from the tent, Eddy wishing he could do the same though he watched Erik loop the rope through the bars at the top of his cage and tie it tight.

"You know what you're doing," it wasn't a question.

"I've tied many a noose in my life," Erik replied, "The rope is no stranger to me. I've killed many with my Punjab lasso."

Eddy had no idea what the Punjab lasso was nor did he want to, he only hoped Erik knew how to make it quick and indeed he seemed to as he looped the rope around his neck and positioned himself.

"You may wish to look away," Erik muttered to him, eyes closed as he braced himself.

Eddy looked away, but caught sight of a shadow moving outside their tent; this wouldn't be good if that figure came in.

"Quickly, Erik!" he hissed.

Erik tried to make it quick, but too late as Jacques himself entered and quickly spied him and the rope around his neck. He swiftly made it to Erik's cage, opened the door, and shoved Erik against the back of the cage, cutting the rope free.

"Damn you!" Jacques snapped, grabbing Erik and dragging him out of the cage, "Your life is mine and I'm not done with you yet!"

"Erik!" Eddy called as he was dragged off presumably to Jacques's tent.

As he slumped in his cage, worrying for his friend, a form stepped into the tent, large and hulking, easily filling the tent entrance.

"Edgar," the form breathed, causing him to look up.

"Thank God!" Eddy exclaimed at the sight of this figure, "Hurry, get me out of here! He needs help!"

"Who?" the form asked as it knelt before the cage and broke the lock with its bare hands.

"My friend," was all Eddy said as he stepped from the cage and hurried to Jacques's tent.

Jacques threw Erik's slight form to the ground in his tent, Erik pushing himself up as Jacques reached for a whip sitting on his table. Again and again, the whip came down, biting through Erik's flimsy clothing as he fell to the ground, hands coming up to cover his head.

"You'll die when I deem it so!" Jacques yelled, bringing the whip down again.

Something woke inside Erik and he turned as the strip of leather came down and caught it in his hand, the whip wrapping around his forearm, biting into his flesh. He pulled it towards him with all his strength, Jacques losing his balance and falling to the ground. Before the man could recover, Erik was on top of him with the whip in his hands and wrapped it around his captor's neck. He pulled tight, Jacques grasping at the length of leather about his neck, unable to grab hold of it to pull it away as he struggled for breath. Erik rejoiced in the feel of that life in his hands, slowly draining out his captor, wondering if he'd ever so enjoyed taking a life as he enjoyed taking this one. Slowly, Jacques's hands fell as he lost the fight for life, the light slowly going out in his eyes even as Erik relished in the feeling of the kill. Satisfied the man was dead, he released his hold and rolled off him, breathing hard, tears of relief streaming down his sunken cheeks.

"Erik!" Eddy's voice came from the entrance of Jacques's tent.

"Eddy?" Erik looked up to see his friend rushing to him.

"Are you alright?" Eddy asked.

"Better than the first time you asked," he answered, "How did you get out?"

As answer, the hulking form that had freed Eddy entered the tent, sky blue eyes landing on Erik's starved form as Erik's own ice blue eyes widened, taking in the creature before him. Clearly male, he was much larger than any human both in height and breadth of shoulder and chest, both arms well muscled and rippling pectorals. A white wolf skin covered his head, the paws of it draped over his shoulders, two black braids on either side of his head hanging down his bare chest, an equally black beard covering his jaw. A pair of tusks jutted from his lower jaw, his flesh tanned, thick legs supporting the creature's weight were as bare as his chest, a loincloth of thick white fur held about his waist by a belt adorned with the large skull of some animal.

"Who- _what_?" Erik got out as the hulking creature knelt before him.

"This is Durotan," Eddy answered, "He is what some call an orc."

A large hand tipped in black claws reached out towards Erik, Erik backing away fearfully, fearing what he might do.

"I mean you no harm," Durotan said softly in a low, gruff voice.

That large hand gently hooked a finger under Erik's chin and raised his face to get a better look at him, a frown forming at the bruises about his face and his emaciated body.

"He is not well," the orc rose, looking at Eddy, "Neither are you for that matter, Edgar."

"It's not been easy," Eddy responded, "We were not exactly well fed nor kept as clean as we would've liked."

"We should go," Durotan announced, "Before someone finds us."

Erik struggled to his feet, using the table as support, Durotan's eyes widening as he saw the terrible scar traveling the length of Erik's right leg.

"What happened?" he asked as Erik limped towards the bed.

"They wanted to make sure I couldn't escape," Erik replied, grabbing a blanket and swinging it around himself.

Erik grabbed a satchel and began filling it with supplies, food, even money that was more than owed to both of them and the familiar bottle of laudanum. Eddy and Durotan slowly followed Erik as he limped along, refusing help from either, to Jacques's horse and pulled himself astride the beast.

"Come," Durotan said, leading them both to the outskirts of the fair where two large wolves waited, one white and one black, "I brought Raven with me."

Erik's eyes widened at the sight of the two beasts for though they looked much like wolves, they were as large as horses.

"Something the matter?" Durotan asked, mounting the white wolf as Edgar mounted the black one.

"Are those… wolves?" Erik wondered.

"From my home," he answered, "Yes. Follow me, I will bring you to my camp where you can both recover."

Eddy and Erik fell in step behind Durotan as he led them at a trot away from the fair and the hell they'd endured.


End file.
